Dogs vs Cats: The Debate That Will Outlive Us All

By Bernard Michael Rochford

There are few topics that can divide a room quite like the question: “Are you a dog person or a cat person?”

Politics? Passions may simmer. Religion? People tread carefully. But say, “I prefer cats to dogs,” and you’ll see someone’s entire opinion of you change in real-time.

Let me be upfront: I’m a dog man. Always have been. Probably always will be.

That’s not to say I dislike cats. I’ve known a few good ones. There was a tabby named Merlin who used to sunbathe on my neighbour’s roof like he paid rent. Lovely creature. Zero interest in me. Which is, of course, a classic cat trait.

Cats live by their own set of rules. They are independent. Elegant. Aloof. They come and go like mist. You don’t own a cat. You negotiate a living arrangement with one.

Dogs, on the other hand, are enthusiasm wrapped in fur. They greet you like you’ve returned from war every time you step outside to check the mail. They don’t judge your taste in music or the fact that you’ve worn the same tracksuit pants three days in a row (indoors, mind you—where they belong).

My first dog was a golden retriever named Archie. I was eight. Archie was clumsy, loud, and very bad at staying clean. But he listened when I was sad, stood guard when I was sick, and barked at my sister’s boyfriends as if on payroll. You never forget your first dog.

Cats, by contrast, make you work for their affection. You might spend an entire evening trying to lure a cat onto your lap with gentle encouragement and the promise of salmon treats. They’ll approach. Sniff. Ponder. Then walk away and sit directly out of reach, watching you like a disapproving therapist.

And yet, there’s something admirable about that.

Cats have boundaries. Dogs do not.

Dogs will follow you into the bathroom. Cats would prefer you not make eye contact during their scheduled window-sill contemplation hour.

Dogs are loyalty, unfiltered. Cats are mystery, finely edited.

Of course, cat people argue that dogs are too needy. Too noisy. Too slobbery. And they’re not wrong. Dogs will lick your face whether you’ve asked them to or not. They’ll bark at leaves and wake the whole street. They’ll steal socks and act like it was a heroic rescue mission.

But that’s the charm, isn’t it? They’re chaos you welcome into your life.

Cats, on the other hand, are minimalist companions. Quiet. Low-maintenance. Less like children, more like eccentric roommates who occasionally knock things off shelves for sport.

I once house-sat for a friend who had two cats—Milo and Beans. I didn’t see them for the first 48 hours. I heard them, sure. Scratching at furniture. Sprinting down the hallway at 3am like they were training for the feline Olympics. But interaction? Not a chance.

Then, on the third night, Milo jumped onto my lap, curled up, and fell asleep. It was like being knighted. I didn’t move for an hour, afraid to disturb the honour.

That’s the cat magic. When a cat chooses you, it feels earned.

But dogs? Dogs will love you on credit. No questions asked. You’re their person from the moment you offer a treat or pat their head. You could be the Queen of England or a bloke eating chips on a park bench—they’ll look at you like you hung the moon.

They don’t play hard to get. They play hard to leave.

I’ve seen dogs wait hours by a front door because their human said “back soon.” I’ve seen cats sit on top of that same door because it’s warm and elevated and the view is better.

Both are brilliant. Just in different ways.

In the end, I think it comes down to what kind of company you want.

If you want a best mate who’ll go for a walk with you rain or shine, forgive your worst moods, and still wag their tail when you burn the toast—get a dog.

If you want a soft, regal creature who respects personal space, keeps you humble, and occasionally naps beside you like a quiet guardian—get a cat.

Or, better yet, get both. Let them teach each other balance.

As for me, I’ll always be a dog man. I like the mess. I like the noise. I like the way they make life feel a little more full, a little less filtered.

But I’ll never turn my nose up at a cat who decides to grace me with their presence.

Even if it’s just to steal my chair.

Bernard Michael Rochford
Retired Osteopath | Dog Devotee | Occasional Cat Furniture